


The Aftermath of Being Hurt

by MaskoftheRay



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Aquaman does not care, Attempt at Humor, Bruce also curses a lot, Bruce and Clark are best friends... and so is Diana, Clark can't take Bruce seriously sometimes, Crack-like? IDK, Don't get injured and then sleep 13 hours folks, Fluff, Gen, Hal Jordan has a potty mouth, Hurt, Identity Reveal, Space burgulars. No that is not a thing Flash, bad language, because apparently Bruce can't text and do other things at the same time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-08 00:19:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15231219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaskoftheRay/pseuds/MaskoftheRay
Summary: Bruce gets hurt, and accidentally reveals his identity to Flash after sleeping for thirteen hours straight. Now he has to decide if it's time to tell the whole team his identity or not. Clark shamelessly laughs at Bruce at least once in this.





	The Aftermath of Being Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I do not own any of these characters, DC Comics does. I feel like this is something Bruce would do-- he's just trying to make Alfred's life easier, and ends up bumbling around. Because we all know Bruce is an awkward human.

As they left the shuttle, Batman suppressed a tired groan and a frown. That had not been one of their better fights, and he would be sure to chew them out about the importance of following orders, teamwork, and actually using their damn heads before charging off into danger like idiots and forcing him to intervene. Again. Instead, he simply let out a soft hiss as he stood, unsteadily for a moment, and hurried off the javelin before anyone could ask, ‘Where’s Batman?’ and deduce how hurt he was. He quickly caught up to Superman, whose face for once was fixed with a scowl. Trying his best not to limp, he growled, “Team meeting, in an hour. Spread the word.” Clark— Superman— nodded, that scowl still in place. 

On other days, Bruce would have been more curious about it. But right now, he was too tired. Clark flew off to tell the others and Bruce fell back, feeling relief in his throbbing ankle at finally being able to slow down. He entered the Founder’s Quarters and input his pin to enter his (almost unused) room. Carefully, he stripped off the Batsuit and grabbed his first aid kit from the closet; yes, he’d made sure that the Watchtower had a first-class medical center, but that didn’t mean he had to use it; there were too many opportunities there for someone to figure out his secret identity and discover his weaknesses. Then he went into the bathroom, stripped, and turned on the shower. 

For one moment, Bruce leaned his head against the cool metal and just let the water run over him, feeling his muscles releasing some of their tension from the heat. His eyes closed for a moment and he blinked. He finished showering and threw on a robe, and some soft boxers, glad that Alfred had insisted on him bringing some creature comforts up to the Watchtower. Bruce sat on the edge of the bed and pulled over a hand-held mirror. Yawning, he inspected his body for any cuts, scrapes, gashes, or bruises that would need looking-after. Thankfully, though he was exhausted, there didn’t appear to be too much damage to himself, other than his ankle, and a few bruised ribs, that is. Bruce propped up his ankle, gritting his teeth at the way it throbbed painfully. 

Carefully, he pulled out a splint and some of the tape and began wrapping it. It hurt, but at least the pain helped wake him up some. He glanced across the room at the clock. He still had 35 minutes until the meeting. That was enough time to ice the ankle and maybe get some work done. Standing cautiously, Bruce hobbled over to the minifridge— another thing Alfred insisted he have up here— and grabbed a plastic-wrapped bag of ice. Then he grabbed his tablet from the desk and went back to the bed, propping his ankle up and placing the bag of ice on it. He tried not to sigh in relief: Batman didn’t feel pain or need to acknowledge that a bag of ice on a sprained ankle felt amazing. He pulled up footage from the fight and started taking notes. 

After a while, he pulled out a spare Batsuit and changed. He grabbed the tablet, and dry-swallowed a few ibuprofen tablets to ease the swelling and wished he had Alfred was here to help him wrap his ribs. Then Batman forced himself to walk as normally as possible down the hall to the meeting room. If anyone noticed him scowling more than usual, they’d assume it was because Batman was being Batman and was angry about something. But, he was really trying to stop the continuous thinking about the pain as he continually put pressure on his ankle and as his ribs grated against the unforgiving Kevlar of the Batsuit. I’d better have Alfred take a look at this later, I’m going to need to get it wrapped better, he thought with a frown as his ankle gave a particularly vicious stab of pain. 

Batman abruptly realized that he had allowed himself to be distracted enough that he had reached the meeting room without realizing it… and that Superman was holding the door open for him. Was he really that low on sleep? He barely stopped himself from blinking in surprise and forced himself to hurry up, so Superman wouldn’t be kept waiting. As Batman hurried forward, Superman hesitated a moment, perhaps sensing that something wasn’t right. “What are you waiting for?” Bruce growled. Clark peered at him a moment and then seemed to shake his head. 

“Nothing,” he said. Perhaps, Batman noted, he was not the only one who was tired. 

The meeting, predictably, was not pleasant. Bruce noted how sad Flash looked, how quiet J’ohn was, how Superman still had that little frown marring his mouth, and how Diana was tapping one foot errantly against the leg of her chair, avoiding eye contact with anyone after he was done discussing his tactical notes with them. He felt frustrated, even more tired, his ankle hurt again, and his ribs were grating together in a very unpleasant manner. But he forced himself to try to refocus as Green Lantern took the floor. It wasn’t like he enjoyed chewing them out, Bruce reflected grimly, it was just that they had not performed to expectations, and that was dangerous— to them, to civilians, even to the villains. Unless someone was being a willful idiot, Bruce usually didn’t enjoy chewing people out. Batman blinked, and this time, focused on what Green Lantern was saying… 

After the meeting concluded— with a depressed silence— Bruce retreated to his room and changed into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. He grabbed the tablet and signed into his W.E. email to see if he had anything else to do. He adjusted the bag of ice on his ankle errantly and fluffed up his pillows so that his ribs didn’t hurt as much, then switched over to watch the footage of the fight again, to see if there was anything else he could comment on later. He blinked again, letting out a yawn, and rewound the footage to just before Diana was flung into him, which sent him flying backwards into a wall. As he yawned again, sliding down on his pillows slightly, Bruce didn’t notice his eyes were fluttering shut. 

A shrill beeping woke him with a start, and he sent the now bag-of-water flying. Then he let out a small curse when the jostling inevitably disturbed his ribs. The bag of melted ice landed on the floor with a splat but didn’t burst. He sat up, blinking, and searched for the source of the beeping blearily and saw that it was his phone, across the room. He yawned, grabbing it as he limped over to where the bag of water had fallen. He placed it in the freezer section of his minifridge and popped another few ibuprofens into his mouth. Then Bruce pulled off his socks— mostly because it was irritating his ankle, and he didn’t want to walk around like an idiot with one sock on— when his stomach announced that yes, he had forgotten to eat yesterday. 

As he left his room, he checked the notifications on his phone: a couple emails about W.E. stuff from Lucius, and a few texts from Alfred. Bruce entered the kitchen, yawning again. Alfred had sent him the text at 5 last night, asking, “Will you be remaining on the tower tonight?” and another one at seven this morning, asking, “May I expect you home at a reasonable hour today, Master Bruce? Remember, you promised Master Richard that you would go ice skating tonight, as it is Saturday.” Bruce checked the time: 10:30; he’d slept for 13 hours. 

He began formulating a response when the light to the kitchen flickered on and a sharp gasp interrupted his thoughts. He squinted a moment at the sudden brightness before reality came crashing down on him. He was in the Watchtower, without a mask on, and he’d just walked through the halls like that… and now, somebody was with him and had seen him unmasked. He slowly put his phone in his pocket and suppressed a curse. Suddenly, a red blur was in his face. 

“Bruce Wayne? What are you doing here? I mean on’ttakethisthewrongway,Sir,IknowyoufundedtheWatchtower,it’sjust…” 

Bruce held up a hand, tiredly, to stop the Flash’s awkward monologue. He turned to the coffee machine, input the beans, and pressed start. “Slow down, Barry. I haven’t had my coffee yet,” Bruce growled. After that, there was complete silence in the room, except for the gurgling of the coffeemaker. Then, with a whoosh, Flash disappeared. The coffee machine finished brewing and Bruce removed his cup of coffee and walked quickly back to his room. 

Flash was hungry, and the sky was blue. He was about to speed into the kitchen when he realized that someone was in there…with the lights off. So, instead of speeding into the kitchen, he walked into the kitchen— cautiously; he still had Batman’s epic chewing-out in the back of his mind. He saw a large man in sweats and a t-shirt texting somebody. This was odd, but at least it wasn’t space burglars like Barry had originally thought. He flicked on the lights and the other man spun around… and revealed that he was Bruce Wayne. For a moment, Barry’s brain seemed to fuse, before he started talking. But then… the craziest thing of all? Bruce Wayne was Batman. This was so astounding that Flash decided he needed to go tell Green Lantern. Right that minute. Flash figured that if Bats had let him see him unmasked, he wouldn’t mind if the other founding members knew his identity. Flash rapidly knocked on GL's door, hoping the other man was there. 

“What?!?” called a grumpy sounding voice. 

“Batman! I know who he is— I saw him making coffee in the kitchen,” Barry said. Green Lantern— Hal Jordan— opened the door with a half-squint, half-glare on his face. 

“You’d better not be shitting me, Allen. So, spill, who is Bats?” he asked. Flash shook his head and tugged on his friend’s arm. 

“Just come with me! You won’t believe it if I tell you,” he said. Hal shook his head but stepped out of his room anyway. 

“If this is some sort of practical joke, Flash, I swear to god I will murder you,” he grumbled. 

Soon the pair stood outside of the empty kitchen. Jordan looked murderous, true to his word. Flash backed up a step, hands slightly raised. “No, Hal! I swear to god, I saw Batman in here, unmasked, making coffee. He was in here less than ten minutes ago, I’m not lying,” Flash insisted. Just then, Superman popped his head into the room. 

“What’s this about Batman being unmasked and making coffee?” he asked, sounding curious and slightly stern. Flash gulped. 

“I came in here to get something to eat, and there was Bruce Wayne just standing here, in the dark, staring at his phone. I turned on the light and realized who he was and started to apologize for disturbing him, when he said,” Flash did his best impersonation of the Batman voice, “‘Slow down, Barry. I haven’t had my coffee yet.’ Batman is BRUCE WAYNE!” Hal shook his head, giving Superman a look like, ‘can you believe this guy?’ But when Superman didn’t say anything, the silence between the three men grew longer, and more fraught. 

“Wait… wait a minute. Supes, man, why aren’t you telling me that Batman is not Bruce Wayne?” asked Green Lantern. Superman suddenly seemed more alert. 

“I can neither confirm nor deny the identity of the Batman,” he said in what sounded like a scripted manor. Hal’s eyes widened. 

Barry said, “HA!” 

“Holy shit… Batman is Bruce Wayne!” exclaimed Hal, shaking his head, “What the fuck? When was he gonna tell us that?” Superman winced. 

“Hal,” he warned. Green Lantern held up a hand. 

“Sorry, Supes, but I gotta process this. That fucker! Keeping a secret like that from us all this time? Damn, that almost hurts.” 

Superman opened his mouth to say something, but clearly decided it wasn’t worth it and floated off. Hal ran after him, waving his arms as if trying to flag down a taxi. “Wait! We have so many questions— clearly, you already knew. Wait, Supes!” But the other man was gone. “Damn,” GL cursed in disappointment. 

Bruce changed into the Batsuit, as he expected to be getting visitors at any moment… and right on cue, there was a knock on his door. “Batman? Are you still here?” asked Superman, sounding concerned. Bruce sighed, but opened the door anyway. 

“What do you want, Superman?” he asked. Clark looked relieved, and Bruce had to suppress an eyeroll. The other man just made it too easy. Superman moved forward, and Bruce stepped aside and granted him entry to his room. Batman gestured to his desk chair and he himself sat on his bed. Superman nodded and took a seat. 

“I overheard an… interesting discussion that Barry and Hal were having earlier. They have a strange notion that you’re Bruce Wayne. Care to tell me what that’s about?” he asked, trying to sound neutral. Bruce did roll his eyes at that and huffed. 

“That’s what happens when you sleep for thirteen hours and then try to respond to texts,” he muttered. When Clark didn’t say anything, Bruce looked up. The other man was trying not to laugh. 

“Fuck you!” Bruce exclaimed, standing, “I was tired. I don’t know what I was thinking— I didn’t want to keep Alfred waiting any longer.” At this exclamation, both men paused, before Clark burst out laughing and Bruce chuckled at himself. 

“Okay, that’s… I’m going to leave that alone,” Clark said, calming down some, “but what do you want to do about Barry and Hal?” 

Bruce sighed, and gave a minute shrug. “Well, I guess I’ll officially have to tell the league my secret identity now.” Clark paused, about to say ‘very funny’ when he realized, Bruce was serious. 

“Ok… if you really want to. I’ll call a meeting,” he said, standing. 

Bruce nodded. “Thanks,” he said. 

Later that week, all the founding members of the league were gathered in the meeting hall, except for Batman. Hal and Barry kept shooting each other looks and Wonder Woman was eyeing Batman’s empty chair with concern. Aquaman looked bored, Superman nervous, Martian Manhunter thoughtful, and nobody knew what Cyborg thought. Superman stood and cleared his throat, calling their attention to him so he could start the meeting. Hal and Barry both raised their eyebrows at one another. “Thank you all for coming on such short notice. As I’m sure you’re aware… there has been some… discussion going on around Batman and who he may or may not be. This meeting is about that and I believe the man himself has some words he wants to say,” Superman said, sitting down again. The door slid open to reveal Batman. He walked into the room, almost seeming nervous. He fidgeted a little before taking his place in front of his seat. Flash and Green Lantern swiveled, eyes wide as dinner plates, and Green Lantern elbowed his friend. 

“You owe me twenty bucks,” he whispered. Flash shushed him. 

Superman made a gesture at Batman, as if to say, ‘go on,’ and the other man rose out of his seat again, definitely nervous. Now more members of the league were concerned— no one, even Clark, really— could recall the last time they’d seen Batman nervous. “I’ll be direct and tell you why you’re here today. As you all know, I have a civilian identity. Recently, it has come to my attention that over half of the founding members know who I am. Therefore, I have concluded it would be more beneficial to the team if the rest of you knew what my civilian identity is. It should go without saying, but, it is of upmost importance for us all to keep this information secret… I— it will make more sense when I tell you,” he concluded, awkwardly. Hal nudged Barry’s foot under the table and mouthed ‘holy shit!’ Batman took one deep breath— that he thought no one else noticed— and reached up for the cowl. With one swift motion, he removed it… to reveal the face of the Prince of Gotham, billionaire son of Thomas and Martha Wayne, the infamous Bruce Wayne. 

“Dude! I can’t believe Flash was right!” Green Lantern exclaimed after a moment of heavy silence. 

Flash looked indignant and exclaimed, “Hey!” This seemed to cut the tension and gave the others ‘permission’ to speak. 

“It’s about damn time,” Superman said, in false exasperation as he patted his friend once on the back. Batman— Bruce Wayne— glared at him, and everyone else stared. 

“I was unaware your face could do that,” Martian Manhunter said. 

“Well, now I see why it’s so important to keep your identity secret,” Hal said jokingly. 

Batman— or Bruce? It was hard to tell now— sighed and said growly, but not as much as usual, “I should have kept the cowl on.” 

“It is a relief not to worry about this now,” said Wonder Woman. 

Flash and Green Lantern turned to look at her accusingly. “Wondy, you knew!” Flash exclaimed, “I’m hurt. I thought this would be a surprise to everyone but Supes!” 

“No, I knew,” she said, smiling mysteriously. 

Hal turned to Aquaman, who had remained quiet this whole time. “Did you know?” he asked accusingly. 

“No,” said the king of the oceans. 

“But… isn’t this— I don’t know if ‘exciting’ is the right word, but I’m gonna go with it— exciting, or at least interesting to you?” Aquaman shrugged, looking over Bruce, who, good naturedly, put up with it. 

“I suppose so. But it is his identity to do with as he pleases,” said Aquaman neutrally. 

Hal just shook his head, muttering, “Typical.” 

“Did anyone else not know!” Hal exclaimed, and Cyborg raised his hand half-heartedly. 

“I guess?” he said. 

“What. Does. That. Mean?” Hal asked. 

Cyborg shrugged, saying, “I may have accidentally hacked his files once. I suspected after that.” Green Lantern sighed, shaking his head. 

“Does this mean we get to see the Batcave?” asked Flash, bouncing in his seat a little. 

Bruce growled, sounding exactly like his alter ego, “I suppose it does. But, if you break anything, Barry, I’ll hand you the bill for my next tech update.” Flash gulped and nodded. Bruce pulled his cowl up and said, “You all might as well come. This is a one time offer, so let’s go.” Everyone, even Superman and Wonder Woman, who had been to the cave before, got up and followed him out of the room.


End file.
